


Circle Duties.

by Vander38



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vander38/pseuds/Vander38
Summary: The story of a Templar learning his duty.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Circle Duties.

“So the main thing here is to keep the mages from trying to get out, we normally have few visitors and deliveries of supplies in a month, new charges or recruits are scheduled well in advance.”

Your Serjant has a very dull voice, despite the important nature of your duties.

All your long life has led to this moment. A childhood to good parents, a teenage growth with the knowledge and will to devote yourself to this cause. Long years of training and vigil and acceptance.

The first draught.

Maker that had burned then. The blue Lyrium fire. It had been agony burning through your veins.

It was worth it.

It gave you clarity and strength and security of purpose.

Now you are here. Kinloch hold. The great tower Circle of Ferelden. Still marred with the scars from the fighting, fire burns across the walls, deep scores in stone.

You know the stories backwards.

Now you are here, being taught your new duties.

Your new life.

“Now, dependant on what month it is only some of your time will be in door duty, and you will never be alone. And it won’t be for a while, we will want you on roving patrols within the tower to learn your way around.”

His words are halted by a deep booming knock on the door.

“Sarjant? Are we expecting a delivery?”

You ask.

He moves his hand to his weapon and you do the same as he steps to one side.

He nods once and you draw your long blade.

The old Templar prayer of arms guides your lips silently.

‘May my heart be true, my arm be swift and my blade be resolute.’

The door opens and you rush into the open air of a long summer evening.

You look around you.

There is nothing.

You go back inside and both close the doors.

Only for another deep booming knock.

Fast as a flash your sword is back and burst into the open.

Nothing.

Then a cough from below and a tugging at your armoured robes.

You look down to see a Dwarf.

Even for a Dwarf she is small, with red hair and big blue eyes.

“Please say I’m not too late to start? I’m sorry I got lost then there was a fight with a rat, not a big rat but still and I am really excited to learn everything.”

The words come in an unstoppable torrent as she pretty much bounces in place.

“What?”

It’s all you can say before she trots inside.

You and your Serjant share a look then your eyes follow the girl as she hurries through.

“She seems to know where she is going at least.”

He says with a shrug.

Several weeks later you walk exhausted through the Tower, thinking only of a soft bed with big pillows. It had been a long day, a morning shift on door duty with the Lieutenant, then on watch in a lesson where a kid got over excited and accidentally inhaled a fireball, gonna be cleaning that up for months. And now stairs and more stairs.

It’s a good way to keep fit though, thirty pounds of armour and stairs.

“Excuse me, Mr Templar Ser?”

Oh what now?

You turn to see the Dwarf girl, Dagger, no Dagna.

You can’t help but smile slightly. She is an easy charge, polite, understanding, smart as anything and very low risk.

You are not really allowed friends among your charges, but Dagna comes close.

“What is it?”

You ask, keeping your voice professional.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I need help getting a book down.”

You are a Templar of the Chantry. One of the great warrior priests of the Maker.

You do not get books for Dwarves.

“Can’t you use a ladder?”

You ask.

“It broke earlier today and I haven’t had a chance to fix it yet and I tried making steps out of other books but the Librarian yelled at me so I came to find help and you’re the first person to pay any attention.”

She blushes as she shrugs.

You feel slightly bad for her, it must be hard being ignored like that.

“I can lift you if that helps.”

You say warily.

“You’re the best thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”

You deadpan.

A week later you are patrolling the dining hall, a thankless task given only to those too slow to escape the eye of the Commander when he is in a mood. 

Much of the talk is inane babble, talk of girls or boys or lessons or the usual wondering if the soup is meant to be chicken or fish today.

It’s actually tomato.

Apparently.

Then suddenly at the far end of the long dining hall a sudden shouting in a mocking voice.

“And why are you even here anyway? You can’t use magic, you can’t even dream, you should go back to your filthy holes!”

The voice has a nasal quality that grates the ears and hurts the teeth. It is full of self arrogance and the confidence of someone who has not been punched in the face.

Yet.

You are not meant to have an opinion on individuals among your charges, but you are not alone in disliking that man, a snivelling rat faced man with permanently greasy hair.

Among the barracks his nickname is mayonnaise because he is pale, oily and tends to smell of eggs.

“Enough!”

You snap, stilling all conversations with a tone of command in your voice.

“Enough, she is a member of this Circle and thus has every right to be here, for as long as she studies magic and related subjects she will be here, that is enough for the Senior Enchanter and the Knight Commander, so it should be enough for you, or do you have information that they lack?”

He looks embarrassed as everyone stares at him.

“I didn’t think so. Now you will apologise to your colleague and if I hear one more racial remark from you than you will regret it! Do you understand?”

Your voice is firm and your glare is unyielding and he stammers an apology and then flees in embarrassment.

Dagna smiles slightly.

“Thank you.”

She whispers with a small smile.

That night you have the late patrol, checking each dorm is safe and secure.

They always are.

It’s a strangely peaceful patrol for you, and as you watch your sleeping charges you can’t help but feel slightly sad for them. Despite their dangerous nature, their cursed gift of magic, they are still just people. It’s easier to see that when they sleep, some roll or spread across their beds, others paw at their faces or suck thumbs. One girl, a startlingly pretty elf with slightly faded Dalish tattoos dancing across her face, snores like an old sewer, her bed has been moved into a corner away from the others.

You wonder what they dream of, of life, of their lessons, of freedom? Of a life outside the safety of the Circles.

In your quiet moments alone you wonder if it would ever be possible for Mages and the rest of Thedas to live safely together. If truly magic could serve man, not rule him.

You sometimes wonder if that makes you a bad Templar. Sworn to protect the living world and the Chantry.

You turn away from the echoing snores of the elf and as quietly as possible in heavy plate armour you leave the dorm.

You know some of your fellow Templars deliberately stamp their boots and rattle their plates. You always find it unnecessary and even cruel. Though you feel guilt at never saying anything.

You know you should report it.

But you never have and in the quiet hours you sometimes wonder why.

As you patrol the corridor you see a figure before the doors of a balcony.

A small figure in dark robes.

But for the Lyrium draught that morning you would not have seen it.

Let alone recognised her.

The Dwarf girl Dagna.

“You should be in bed.”

You say and she jumps in place.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

She says quickly.

There is an odd tremor to her voice, like the voice of someone caught doing something they know that they shouldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

You make your voice soft and friendly.

“Yes.”

An obvious lie as her eyes flick to the doors of the balcony.

“It’s a balcony Dagna, and you couldn’t try to escape that way. We are a hundred feet high so you would splash terribly, also there are wards around the edge so that people cannot cross the boundaries.”

You say it lightly. Knowing the wards are just words to discourage the stupid, the real barrier is the hundred foot drop onto the stone courtyard, you have seen the stains of previous escapees and the unfortunate suicide attempt by Miserable Jim.

No one had seen that one coming.

He had always been so happy and cheerful.

“No it’s not that, it’s just.”

She hesitates and twists her hands together.

“I’ve never seen stars before.”

She blurts out.

“Ah.”

It’s all you can think to say.

It makes sense when you think about it, she was raised underground, then traveled across Fereldan to the tower.

“You wish to see them?”

You ask her.

She looks scared.

“I don’t know.”

Her voice is shaking, slightly fearful.

“I think so.”

She adds after a moment.

You sigh.

You know you shouldn’t unlock the door.

The key turns slowly in the lock as you push it open, despite its heavy weight it swings smoothly and quietly on it’s hinges.

The wind is cool through the vent holes in your great helm and it ruffles her short red hair.

She shakes in place.

“What’s wrong?”

You ask softly.

“I’m scared.”

She looks away, like she is ashamed.

“Of what?”

You ask, partly curious, partly concerned.

“Falling.”

It takes a moment for her to answer, and her voice comes slowly, with reluctance.

“The wards will stop you falling, and you can stay away from the edge.”

You say in a reasonable voice.

“Not like that, not that type of falling.”

She says in a slightly more patient voice.

“What do you mean?”

You ask in genuine confusion.

“Falling into the sky.”

She says as you would to an eager but not very bright child.

It takes you a moment, but you recall some stories you have heard about Dwarves in Orzammar.

The belief that they could fall off the world.

It’s nonsense of course, you know that.

But does she?

“You won’t fall, not like that at least. It’s not possible.”

A range of emotions flash across her face as she processes your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She nods once.

Then takes a step closer to the door.

You had heard stories of bravery, of Templars fighting maleficarum, of the Grey Wardens during the Blight.

Now you witness it as step by small step, Dagna ventures onto the balcony.

Starlight dances over her face and reflects in her wide eyes, a wondrous smile tugs at her lips as she stares upwards.

You can’t help but smile at the almost childlike expression of discovery on her face.

You watch as she pulls a notepad from her deep poachers pockets and she draws stars, tracing lines and shapes between them as she looks up at the sky.

“They’re beautiful.”

Her whisper carries on the wind.

You say nothing.

Content to just watch as she draws the stars.

You know that you would be unlikely to have children. Your vows are to the Chantry and Thedas, and while it is not forbidden to bear children, it is unlikely.

But as you watch her discover the night sky you realise that if you ever had children you would want them to be like her.

The peace of the moment is shattered when an armoured gauntlet slams on your shoulder.

“And just what is going on here?”

The voice of the Knight Commander, little more than a whisper in your ear.

The next morning you stand in the office of the Knight Commander.

He sits behind a heavy wooden desk, on top of it’s worn surface is Dagna’s notebook and a heavy file that you know is your own.

She is currently in the cells.

You stare an inch above his head as he glares at you with a look that could rip steel.

“I want an explanation about the events of last night.”

His voice is mild, conversational but you know it is an order.

“On my patrol of the sleeping chambers I discovered the Dwarf, Dagna, out of her bed and exploring the corridors.”

You say in a formal report and the Knight Commander interrupts.

“Whereby you escorted her to the cells in the Templar quarters and reported the events to your Senior Officers.”

He states with heavy sarcasm.

“No Sir.”

He steeples his fingers in front of his face.

“Then just what did happen?”

He says, back in the conversational tone.

“I asked Dagna what she was doing outside of her bunk, and she informed me that she was trying to look at the stars.”

He raises a single eyebrow.

“She wanted to look at the stars?”

He asks with incredulous tones.

“Yes Sir. I used my discretion as the patrolling Templar on duty to determine that it was a harmless enough request, so I unlocked the balcony doors to allow her a few moments to observe the sky. Before I could bring her back inside to escort her back to her bunk I was relieved of duty by the Knight Commander and escorted back to Templar Quarters, Dagna was escorted to the cells by the Knight Commander.”

He sighs heavily.

“Yes Templar, I get the point from there.”

His tone is short as he shakes his head.  
“Templar, I trust I am not insulting your intelligence by asking if you know just why we keep the balcony locked?”

I nod.

“Yes Sir, I know why we keep the doors sealed.”

He nods.

“Then would you care to explain the leap between that knowledge and you deciding to unlock the doors anyway.”

You take a moment.

“I decided to unlock the doors because at the time we were over a hundred feet up, any attempt at escape could only end in failure, particularly as Dagna possess no magical abilities.”

You manage to keep your voice level.

“Templar, take a seat.”

The command takes you by surprise but you obey.

“Templar, you have been with us for a while now, I know your habits, you are not a bad Templar, you are devoted to your faith and you have thus far dispensed your duties with not a single failing. In fact you have been downright kind to the charges, while I may not necessarily agree with the soft touch, it is better than unnecessary cruelty.”

He sighs and rubs a hand through his beard.

“However, I cannot tolerate any fondness between Templars and their charges, we are here to protect Thedas, not to indulge the whims of the ones who could see to the destruction of Thedas. Do I make myself clear?”

His last sentence is in a whisper.

“Yes Sir.”

It’s all you can say.

“Templar, I truly hope so, while Dagna is of extremely low risk to Thedas, there are others who are greater. You never saw the Blight, you never saw the damage that was done by maleficarum let loose, and I truly pray you never have to. All that stands between the ruin of all Thedas and safety, is a thin line of Templars like us. We must remain separate and unfeeling. You can combine kindness with watchfulness, but watchfulness must be the main priority.”

He sighs again.

“You will remain on internal patrol duties only, with at least one partner at all times until I declare otherwise. You will not speak alone to Dagna nor will you have any interaction with her beyond the normal course of your duties and this event will be recorded for any future consideration.”

He states in flat harsh tones.

You can’t help but be slightly relieved, it could have been far worse.

“Yes Sir.”

You say, it’s all you can say.

“Now get out of my office and get out of my sight!”

You stand and salute and turn to leave, then you hesitate.

“I said get out Templar.”

His voice is harsh.

“Sir, if I may speak a moment?”

He stands with a clatter of armour plate.

“The time to defend yourself has been and gone Templar.”

He states coldly.

“It’s about Dagna Sir.”

He breathes through his nose.

“What about her?”

His eyes are fierce as he glares into you.

“What’s going to happen to her?”

You ask in a deferential voice.

“She will remain in the cells for one day, she will then return to her position within the Circle and when a suitable amount of time has passed, I will return her property to her. Byond that I see no need for further punishment in this particular case.”

His voice is flat.

“Understood Sir, thank you.”

You say.

“Get out!”

His command echoes as you leave.

Many years later you walk a different set of stone floors.

You wear a different armour.

A different crest upon your surcoat.

The Blade of Mercy is still there, joined by the flaming Watchful Eye.

The crest of the Inquisition.

Despite the changes in the world, some things remain the same, your devotion to the Chantry has only grown over the years, though now you fight for it as a defender of Thedas for the Inquisition not for the fractured Templar Order.

And you still have to wear heavy armour up and down stairs.

The stairs are long in the fortress of the Sky as you walk deeper into the mountain, down into the Undercroft.

And there in the depths of the forge room, with a great mouth showing a glorious view over the mountain border of Ferelden and Orlais you wait.

The equipment is a mixture of the familiar and the strange, and there are pages of notes in runes you do not understand.

Tucked under a sheaf of loose parchment is a notebook that tugs at the memory, you open it, and smile as you see a drawing of star shapes halfway through the book.

“Please don’t touch anything!”

A familiar voice from long ago sounds behind you and you turn.

You smile warmly.

“Hello dagna.”


End file.
